


Laid Bare

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Erotica, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Series, Santos Administration, Smut, Smutty, relationship, smuerotica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: You know what they say about idle hands...
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 15
Kudos: 52





	Laid Bare

**Author's Note:**

> Been sitting on this one for a while. Time to put aside my anxiety over it and present it to the world.

I pause in the kitchen doorway, crossing my arms and leaning against the frame as I watch Donna, who is completely oblivious to my presence. She’s so sexy it hurts. She shouldn’t be, at least not at the moment, but she is.

Her back is to me as she washes the dishes from dinner. It was my turn to do them—when she cooks, I clean—but she actually insisted, gathering them up before I could move from the table after we ate. Sometimes she pulls double-duty when I have crazy amounts of work I need to finish or if I have to go back to the White House for the evening, but she’s so insanely busy right now that I do my damndest to not fall into that habit. If she’s not at work, she’s in classes at Georgetown or is doing her piles of homework and assignments so I know I’m not actually any busier than she is. Donna just happens to be an amazing person, always putting other people before herself.

Though, she’s confessed to me that she likes to use the time spent washing dishes or cooking or sometimes even showering to organize her thoughts. It’s time when thinks she can be excused for doing nothing but thinking.

Right now, though, she’s on spring break from school and I think she’s a little unsure of what to do with all her free time. It’s only Monday and she’s more than caught up on all of her homework and work hasn’t been too crazy lately so she doesn’t even have that as a distraction. I don’t know if I’d be surprised to wake up in the middle of the night to find her rearranging the apartment.

She lets out a sigh and my attention shifts back to her, my insides doing that weird flippy thing they do anytime I see her. She’s wearing an old t-shirt of mine—because she’s a thief—and baggy pajama pants and I swear I’m just as turned on by her like this as I am when she parades around in fancy lingerie.

I’m one lucky son of a bitch. I don’t know what I did to deserve Donna Moss in my life, but I hope I can keep doing it. Never mind our more than a year of domestic bliss; all those years beforehand when we were simply coworkers feel like more than I deserved. How I manage to wake up every morning to see her next to me is something I don’t understand.

I push myself off the doorframe and make my way toward her. She doesn’t even jump when I slide my hands under the shirt, stroking my fingers against her stomach. “I would have done those, you know.”

I can see her cheek curve up as she smiles. “I know. I’m just going crazy and feel like I have nothing to do.”

“Just wait until you graduate in a couple of months. Then you’ll really have a lot of time on your hands.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, rinsing off the pan in front of her and putting it in the drying rack—we have a dishwasher but when she’s in this mood, she prefers the hand washing method. “Until I start grad school in the fall. Then it’s back to the grind.”

I lean in, kissing her neck, and she tilts her head to accommodate me. “You’re such a workaholic,” I tease, my tongue darting out to taste her skin.

“And you being the laidback, devil-may-care individual that you are,” she answers.

I chuckle, giving her neck another kiss before settling my chin on her shoulder. I watch her scrub a few more plates before confusion settles over me entirely. “Did we get that much dirty from dinner…or are you just grabbing clean dishes and washing those now?”

Her face turns pink; I don’t even have to look at her completely to see that. “I know; I’m a loser. I’ve got a lot of energy right now. I feel like I’m forgetting to do something. I’ve already been for a run and that did nothing to help. I just need to do…something.”

“Oh, yeah?” I shuffle myself a little closer to her, nudging my pelvis against her ass. I spread my hands out across her stomach, my thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do if you have some extra energy.”

She says nothing; instead, she finishes rinsing off the last few pieces of silverware before turning off the water. “What did you have in mind?” she asks, somehow making her voice sound completely innocent, as if I’m not trying to slide into second base right now.

I move my hands up, cupping her breasts, still sort of marveling that I get to do this. I bury my face in her neck again, kissing as much skin as I can find. “Maybe something with less clothing.”

“Ohhh.” She shifts a little, pressing her ass into me, and I don’t bother hiding the groan that falls out of my mouth. My body instantly reacts to her and I feel myself stiffening. “You mean like go swimming?”

I grab onto her breasts fully, kneading the soft flesh in earnest. “Skinny dipping. Only we skip that whole going to water thing and just take our clothes off here.”

“Skinny dipping on dry land,” she says, somehow sounding unaffected even as I pinch her nipples. “That sounds an awful lot like a proposition.”

“You’re damn right it is,” I answer. One of my hands releases her and slides back down her stomach. My fingers toy with the edge of her pajama pants for a few moments, waiting to see if she objects. When she doesn’t protest, I fairly gracelessly shove my hand down her pants and underwear, shivering from head to toe when I make contact with her already-wet flesh. “Jesus,” I groan, rubbing my fingers over her carefully.

“No; just Donna,” she answers, her head dropping back against my shoulder. Her hips push against my fingers, trying to coax me into more. I play hard to get for maybe half a second before I start to rub her with a bit more gusto. She pulls away from me for the briefest of moments to yank off her shirt, leaning against me a second later. Even as I kiss her neck, my gaze wanders down her body. There’s something very erotic about not being able to see what my hand is doing to her as I move it beneath her pants.

She moans a little, pulling me back into the moment. I spread out the hand on her chest, trying to hold both her breasts at the same time. I desperately wish I had more hands so I could touch more of her, touch all of her, at once. I watch as her hips start to undulate, her entire body moving in a fascinating rippling motion that is entirely too hypnotic. “God, you’re sexy,” I mumble.

She chuckles a little, though it sounds a bit breathless. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” She’s _always_ sexy. It seems impossible—and maybe it is—but she is to me. Commanding the attention of everyone in the room, having quiet talks with the First Lady, hunched over the kitchen table while she does her homework, dressed to the nines for some function we have to attend, or standing at the sink washing dishes in her pajamas. I don’t care which version I get, I love them all and find each one to be more incredible than the last.

Though half naked in our kitchen as I try to bring her to orgasm is way up there.

Her knees buckle for a few seconds and I tighten my grip on her, moving my fingers faster. I pause for a few seconds, sliding my fingers into her depths and pumping them in and out before I move back to stroking her sensitive flesh.

“I’m gonna come,” she whispers, and I feel smug satisfaction course through me.

“Please do.” I pinch one of her nipples, tugging at it enough to make her gasp.

“Rightthere rightthere rightthere RIGHTTHERE,” she breathes moments before her entire body goes rigid. I tighten my grip on her, knowing she’s about to fold in on herself as she spasms. She thrusts against me wildly, high pitched noises escaping her even as it looks like she forgets to breathe. I don’t move my fingers against her any faster; we’ve been together long enough for me to know that if she’s having an orgasm, whatever it was I was doing to get her there was good and I don’t need to try anything fancy in the process. I love sex with her when she’s all high strung like this, too, because it takes no time at all to get her to come.

I hold her while she shudders and bucks, riding it out with her as best I can until her body goes limp. She pants and laughs, letting me support her weight while she recovers. “God, I love you. I tell you that I’m restless and have too much energy so your solution is an orgasm.”

“One track mind,” I answer, going back to kissing her neck. My hips rub against her involuntarily, looking for more friction. “All sex, all the time.”

“It’s a good thing I still have a lot of energy to burn off.” With that, she straightens and turns, effectively dislodging my hand from its happy place. She looks entirely satisfied as she wraps her arms around me, pushing herself up a little to kiss me. I grab onto her waist, tilting my head to meet her, both of us making progressively louder noises of what sounds like primal arousal. She shoves her hand down my pajama pants suddenly, my own knees buckling as her fingers wrap around my erection.

“Holy mother of…” I gasp into her mouth, pushing myself into her touch. I can feel her smiling as she kisses me. Despite how frantic this feels right now, her hand moves slowly, languorously over me. I can feel my toes curling in response. I slide my hands down the back of her pants, grabbing onto her ass and pulling her closer. She moves her hand a little faster, allowing me to grind my hips against hers, until she suddenly ducks out of my arms. All I can do is blink at her stupidly as she grabs my wrist and drags me over to the counter, propping me up against it. The corner of her mouth quirks up at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief, but she leans up to kiss me again before I can put much thought into it. With what little is functioning of my brain, I know I miss her hand down my pants.

She comes up for air, her eyes twinkling even more somehow, and she drops to the floor, taking my pants and boxers with her. I swear I can actually feel all of my blood rush directly into my groin at the sight of her grinning up at me. I reach for her arm, trying to pull her up, but she just pushes me away. Before I can respond further, she wraps her lips around my erection, taking me into her mouth. My legs almost collapse and I grab onto the edge of the counter to keep myself upright. She keeps her eyes trained on me as she takes me in as far as she can, and I bite down on my lip to keep myself from exploding right then and there. It’s not that head feels that much better than having sex with her, but the visuals from the act are _insanely_ erotic. The knowledge that she has complete control over me doesn’t help anything, either. I’m complete putty in her hands. Actually, that’s true most of the time, but it’s even more so when she goes down on me. She’s good at it, too. I mean, _Really Good_. I choose to believe it’s a natural talent and not consider how she might have learned this.

She moans, her eyes falling shut for a few seconds before she returns her gaze to mine, the eye contact almost unnerving. Her head bobs slowly—clearly, she’s in no rush. I reach out and grab her hair that’s in a knot on the top of her head and tug it a little until it comes loose, running my fingers through it as gently as I can. I hold onto the counter so hard I think my fingers are going to break with the other hand, but I keep my touch on her as delicate as possible. I can’t imagine much worse than some guy trying to hold your head down, making you choke as you so generously give him head, and I never want to be that person, but I do have an overwhelming need to touch her.

If it wasn’t complete sensory overload, I could watch her go down on me for hours. She never does it out of some obligation, but because she says she truly enjoys it. She says she likes to make me happy, and that it’s even a turn on for her, too. I would question that, but I really love doing the same for her, and I’ve definitely managed to get myself more than a little turned on in the process.

I feel her pull back and refocus my attention on her, groaning in satisfaction as her mouth sucks on the head of my erection, one of her hands pumping the shaft. I swear her eyes turn almost black as I watch and she reaches up, her fingers tugging at her nipple.

“Jesus Christ, woman. Are you trying to kill me?” I gasp, my hips thrusting out of control for a few moments at the sight of it.

She releases me completely from her mouth though her hand never stops moving against me. I watch her swirl her tongue around my head a few times, and I’m reminded of why I can’t watch her eat an ice cream cone. “You’re lucky my hand isn’t down my pants,” she breathes.

I swear, I almost explode right then and there. “By all means, feel free to express yourself,” I just barely manage to choke out.

She stares up at me, her lips just barely grazing over the tip of my erection for a few moments before she pulls me back into her mouth. Her fingers pull at her nipple a few more times before she moves her hand, sliding it slowly down her stomach. She toys with the edge of her pajama pants for just a few moments, watching my face. I’m not sure what she sees but I know it can’t be pretty. She seems to like it, though, because her hand disappears down her pants and she moans loudly, her eyes closing as her body convulses in on itself for a few long seconds.

I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. It’s rare that I get to see Donna pleasure herself, at least in a solo kind of way. Not that she doesn’t do it—I’m sure she does more than I’m aware—but usually, if she’s in the mood, I want to be the one to help. She’ll definitely do it sometimes during sex and it’s sexy as hell, but when possible, I try to do it for her. It’s probably an ego thing on my part, but I really like being the one to make her orgasm. So, usually, there’s not a lot of cause for her to play with herself. I’m always willing to lend a hand.

Still, that makes seeing her do it all the more erotic. It actually makes my head spin. Whatever blood was left in my body to help me function flees to my groin.

Her hips thrust in time with the motions of her head, her entire body undulating hypnotically. I can feel her moaning around me, her hand pumping me in firm, steady strokes. This whole thing is like a porno but…so much better. All that perfectly choreographed stuff doesn’t hold a candle to my super hot girlfriend spontaneously going down on me in the kitchen on a Monday night. The pit of my stomach tightens suddenly and I know I’ve got to end this before it’s too late.

“Donna,” I gasp, my body betraying me by answering her motions with tiny thrusts of my own. “Baby, you’ve got to stop.”

She just looks up at me from under her lashes, pulling back just enough so I can watch her tongue move over me. My eyes slam shut and I think I stop breathing for a while as I try to get myself under control. That visual is too much.

“Please,” I whisper, giving her hair as gentle a tug as I can manage. I open my eyes just a little so I can see her. “I want to have sex with you.”

She tortures me for a few moments before letting me fall out of her mouth, her hand taking over as it slides up and down my length. “We _are_ having sex,” she answers, sounding as out of breath as I feel. I glance down at her and see that the hand hidden beneath her pants hasn’t stopped moving and I shudder from head to toe.

“I want to be inside of you.”

She grins broadly, ducking a little so that she can run her tongue from the base of my erection to the tip, pulling the head in between her wonderfully full lips. I can feel her tongue dancing over me in fluttery, light movements. Just as quickly, the sensation disappears. “You _are_ inside of me.”

“But—”

“Shhh. Just relax. I have faith in you.”

Before I can ask what she means by that, she takes me in her mouth again, her hand pumping me faster. Her other hand reappears suddenly, grabbing onto my balls. Her hand is warm and wet and all it takes is a couple of tugs before I’m coming.

“Donna!” I yell, my hips thrusting wildly, beyond my control for the moment. “Fuck! Oh, _fuck!_ Aaaaauughh!”

She just sucks at me harder and I manage to open my eyes—that I don’t even remember closing—so I can see her. She’s watching me still, the expression on her face smug and predatory, and I don’t blame her. She has complete control over me. Her hands pull at me it’s all I can do to keep myself upright as my orgasm feels like it goes on forever.

She takes mercy on me, at least to a degree, releasing me from her mouth. Her hands, however, continue to stroke me. As I struggle to remain upright, my hand flops around on the counter until I find the roll of paper towels and tear off a wad. I hold them out in front of me blindly, my eyes finally opening completely when her touch disappears. She wipes her face, spitting into the paper towels as she stands. She’s not a swallower. I don’t know that I blame her for that. At some point in my misspent youth—or as misspent as a geeky, bookish, workaholic kid can have—I remember guys talking about this, making jokes about if some girl liked to spit or swallow and how the latter showed how much she cares about you or something stupid. All these years later, I’m still in the camp where I believe if a woman is willing to put my penis in her mouth, she’s allowed to finish it any way she wants. I’m really not going to complain. If Donna prefers not to swallow, and I know she doesn’t, that’s up to her and I’m fine with it. That’s why I try to warn her when I’m going to come so she can do what she needs to do.

“Cheater,” I finally gasp. She tosses the paper towels in the trash, turning to grin at me. I can barely keep myself upright at the moment. My knees are like Jell-O. I’ve gotten much better about not passing out after a blowjob than I used to be, but it’s still not an easy recovery process. We’ve discovered together over the past year that a couple of well-timed tugs in the middle of a blowjob will usually make me erupt like a volcano. She doesn’t use that trick often—we’re not usually looking to speed up the experience—but I suppose on an evening like this, when it seems that she has bigger plans, it’s an effective way to get us where she wants to be.

She hooks her fingers into the waist of her pajama pants and pushes them down her legs, doing this wonderfully hypnotic little shimmy in the process that makes her breasts bounce enticingly. Before I can contemplate the fact that I’m not sure if I can stand without the support of the counter behind me, she takes a couple of steps so she’s standing in front of me. Our arms wrap around each other, my hands roaming over endless amounts of her skin. She pushes herself up a little, kissing me slowly.

I feel like I want to crawl inside of her. I pull away for a couple of seconds, just long enough to yank off the t-shirt I’m somehow still wearing, before pulling her back into my arms. I kiss her much more frantically this time, reveling in the feel of our damp skin pressed together. She smiles into my mouth, working a hand between us until she grips me firmly. I can’t help but hiss in response, though not in protest. My skin is just still so sensitive, but the feel of her holding me, stroking me carefully, is too good to pass up.

A wave of energy comes over me, the fog lifting from my hazy, post-coital brain, and I turn us around, pressing Donna into the counter. With a complete lack of finesse, I kiss my way down her body, sucking at her neck hard enough to leave marks. I move to her breasts a few moments later, frantic, trying to touch every part of her I can all at once. I take one nipple into my mouth, sucking it into a hard peak, while I grope the other one. One of her hands comes up and threads through my hair, holding me tight to her chest. I glance up at her face only find her head thrown back. From this angle, I can just barely see that she’s biting her lip. Excellent.

I spend a few more moments at her breasts before I continue south. I have a desperate, overwhelming desire to return the favor, and an even more overwhelming desire to taste her. I kiss and nibble down her stomach, feeling the muscles twitch beneath my lips. I nuzzle my nose at the apex of her thighs and she immediately changes her stance, moving so her legs are a little further apart. I grab onto her thighs, massaging her muscles before I dive in.

She squeaks a little, her body collapsing for a moment before she rights herself. “Yes,” she whispers, her hand pressed gently to the back of my head. My tongue darts out, flicking against her in short, firm strokes. She shifts a little, moving up onto her tiptoes, and somehow I know this position isn’t sustainable. I pull back, licking my lips, and she gives me a worried look, her forehead crinkled. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I steer her to the corner of the counter. “Get up there.”

She looks behind her and nods in understanding, pulling herself up onto the cool Formica. Her legs automatically fall open, one foot propping up on the counter, and I think I’m going to fall over. The smell of her arousal hits me like a wave, almost overpowering me. It’s a heady feeling, knowing I can do that to her. I step into her and she reaches up, cupping my cheeks as she pulls me in. We kiss each other thoroughly for a few long moments, but I really want to get back to attending to her needs. This time, I don’t hesitate before I drop down into a crouch.

I do savor the sight before me for a few long seconds. It’s not something I could or would want to describe to anyone, but Donna laid open before me is intoxicating. I’m sure it’s a combination of a lot of factors—all those years of thinking I’d never get to be with her, the ego-trip of knowing that no one else gets to see her like this, and that no one else ever will, the trust she puts in me letting me take my time and look around.

I wrap my arms under her thighs, pulling one of her legs over my shoulder. I nuzzle my nose against her, smiling a little as the hair there tickles my face. We don’t stand on ceremony, neither of us interested in trying to impress the other with excessive landscaping of the private property. We each do our own degree of grooming, though it’s always because of personal preference. She’ll do something fancy on occasion, but never because of some request of mine. I frequently feel like a broken record, but as long as she’s willing to let me see her naked, I’m not picky. She’s beautiful from head to toe, and neither of us feels the need to get things waxed or shaved because of some imaginary expectation.

I tighten my hold on her thighs and pull her just a little closer, making sure she doesn’t fall off the edge of the counter. I flick at her with my tongue, smiling again when I feel her entire body jerk. Using light strokes and just the tip of my tongue, I get to work, fairly certain an orgasm won’t be far behind, especially since she did such a lovely job of getting herself primed just a few minutes ago. I’m hoping this will be one of those nights where I can make her come over and over again. It certainly doesn’t happen every time we have sex—I don’t know that either of us could withstand that—but over our time together, I’ve learned just how capable she is of multiple orgasms and just what I need to do to get that reaction out of her. It took me a while to recognize some of them—they could be so gentle and delicate at times, not just her back-arching, muscle-clenching, shout-to-the-heavens, type—and I had to start asking her about them. Honestly, some of them could be so…quiet at times, I thought she might’ve been lying to me, or at least teasing me. Lucky me, though, I was just making her feel good. After that, though, I started trying to figure out what I had to do to get different reactions from her, and in the course of that, I found out that if she can start off with the tiny orgasms, it doesn’t take much to keep her going. The light orgasms usually mean she can have more of them, and in much faster succession. That usually leads to something fairly explosive by the end of the night, something that leaves us both in need of some form of sports drink to rehydrate.

“God!” she gasps, her fingers clutching mine. I look up at her, my tongue still moving in small, rapid motions. Her head is thrown back; her stomach muscles are trembling. She’s close.

I flick my tongue a few more times and her body goes taut as her back arches. I can see her mouth drop open. A few long moments later her body starts moving again and she exhales loudly, the noise sounding like a moan. She smiles though, biting her lip as she looks down at me.

Exercising great restraint, I maintain my position and continue with the steady motions of my tongue. She’ll let me know if it’s too much but she’s not usually overly sensitive if I keep it fairly gentle.

“Jooooosh,” she moans, squeezing my fingers. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Mmmhmm,” I answer, doing my best to maintain eye contact.

“That’s all.” She grins at me broadly. “Not gonna stop you. Keep doing it.”

I tilt my head a little in response, changing the angle on her ever so slightly. Her hand grabs onto the back of my head, trying to pull me closer but I don’t give in. Maybe it won’t be a night of endless orgasms, but I want to get a few more out of her before it’s all over. She deserves that much.

“Oh, God,” she says, mostly in a growl. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, don’t stop, _don’t stop!_ ” Her fingers tug at my hair and I glance up again, pleased to see that her other arm is stretched out, gripping onto the edge of cabinets. Her body undulates in short, sharp waves and I can’t help my ego from swelling a little. It’s such a heady feeling to know I can do this to her.

I move my tongue just a little faster and her body freezes for a few long seconds before she lets out a loud grunt, her hips thrusting toward me. I tighten my grip on her thighs to make sure she doesn’t fall off the counter. I feel her hand pull at my head again and this time I allow myself to be directed, though I make sure to avoid contact with key areas while she recovers just a bit.

I kiss her inner thigh, nibbling carefully at the delicate skin there. “You doin’ all right?”

She laughs breathlessly, the leg draped over my shoulder tightening against my back. “I guess.”

I know she’s teasing me—I know it without a doubt—but my stupid male ego feels insulted by the response and needs to make sure she’s fully satisfied. Without preamble, I cover her with my mouth, moving over her soft flesh in long, firm strokes. Her fingers clutch my hair, tugging at the strands almost painfully. I don’t care; my only purpose at this moment in my life is to give Donna pleasure. Part of me wants to keep going with the teasing thing and all the small orgasms that build into something explosive, but she knows what she wants and I just want to give it to her.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moans, her hand releasing its death grip on my hair though she keeps running her fingers over my scalp. It sends tingles down my spine…and to my groin. I can feel my blood starting to flow south again, which is always a nice surprise. If I’m lucky, I’ll get another orgasm out of tonight, too.

I press my face into her, moving my mouth greedily. I want all of her. I feel like I can’t get close enough. I look up at her, watching as she arches her back and pushes herself closer. I tighten my hold on her legs, doing my best to make sure she’s secure. She looks down at me, our eyes locking, and she smiles. Her chest heaves appealingly. Her entire body is glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. I remember her teasing and torturing me earlier, the way she made my eyes feel like they were going to explode out of my face before I found release, and suck her into my mouth, my tongue moving against her furiously.

She yells, the leg that’s been propped up on the counter coming to land on my shoulder. She crosses her legs, holding me tightly against her. I don’t think she’s even aware that she did it. I’m not being suffocated yet so I’m happy to roll with it. Besides, the closer she keeps me, the less likely I am to be able to do anything other than what I’m doing right now. Fine with me.

“Ooooo _ooohhhh, Jesus!_ ”she moans, both of her hands clutching at my hair now, yanking at it as she thrusts against me. It’s maybe a double standard, but since I’m the one who bears the brunt of it, I’m not going to complain. The same way I won’t hold her in place when she’s going down on me, it truly doesn’t bother me at all when she does the same thing to me. I’m not going to choke. I can still breathe through my nose. Her eyes fall shut again, her head dropping back against the cabinets. I shift a little closer, feeling a twinge in my knees that reminds me that I’ve been crouching in front of her for who knows how long and probably can’t sustain this position much longer.

Her body goes taught suddenly, her hips moving in tiny thrusts, letting me know she’s right there on the edge. I press my tongue against her, pushing it against her as hard as I can without possibly hurting her. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding that balance. I glance up at her face, pleased to see that this time is no exception, at least if the smile on her face is any indication.

And then, she’s spasming out of control. Her body twitches violently as her mouth falls open, no sound coming out. She pushes against my face as she comes and I do my best to move with her, trying to maintain contact. “Yes!” she finally gasps, her fingers clutching my hair. “Yes ohhhhhh!”

Feeling thoroughly satisfied with myself, I push up to a standing position before I’m sure she’s completely finished with her orgasm. She breathes heavily, managing to give me an indignant look at the same time, a look I feel is tempered by the fact that both of her feet at behind my head at the moment. With that, I carefully move one leg back to its propped up position on the counter, running my fingers from her toes and up her calf, then back down her thigh. Her skin is flushed an absolutely wonderful shade of pink. The muscles in her stomach and thighs are trembling just a little, though I’m not sure if it’s from my prowess or just general exertion. I run my hand up her side and grab onto her breast, massaging her flesh even as I tug at her nipple. Her eyes fall shut for a few seconds as she lets out a shuddery breath.

When she looks at me again, her eyes are twinkling with mischief. She glances down at me, her eyebrow lifting at the sight of my semi-erect penis. “Need a hand with that?”

I can’t stop my eyes from rolling and shaking my head just a little. “I’ll let you know, but…I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Surprise registers on her face, though she doesn’t look unhappy with the prospect. “What do you mean by—” The rest of her words are muffled by me kissing her, our tongues dueling fiercely as we each seem to try to out-kiss one another. I move my hand back down her body until it’s between her thighs. Her hips jerk in response to my touch, and it takes everything I have to control myself. It’s always such an incredible turn on to feel how aroused she is during sex, to know that _I’m_ the one that gets her like this.

I hold her head to me with one hand, kissing her for all I’m worth, and I push a couple of fingers into her with the other, my knees almost giving out when I feel how hot she is. She tears her head away, letting out a gasp that turns into a groan at the sensation.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” she asks, her hips responding to my ministrations.

“Just wanna make you feel good,” I answer, pressing my lips to her neck.

“Mission accomplished,” she assures me, though she does nothing to stop what I’m doing. She moans in happiness as I nibble at her throat for a few seconds. “I think I know what you’re trying to do.”

I look up at her, waggling my eyebrows suggestively. We both know I want to try to get her to squirt. Neither of us is particularly fond of the term, but we’ve yet to find something more accurate. What it lacks in title, though, it more than makes up for with the result. I really thought it was a myth until it happened with Donna probably a year ago. Since then, it’s not been as elusive as I thought it would be, though we can’t usually make it happen by me going down on her. It usually depends on the angles if we’re having sex or doing hand stuff, but we’ve found it happens most with anal. However, since we’ve in no way prepared for that tonight, I just have to try to make it work this way. Such is my burden in life.

Her body jerks as I find her G-spot and I grin, leaning in to kiss her again. She responds the best she can, gasping into my mouth as I move my hand. I step a little closer to her, wrapping my free arm around her waist to keep her stable, and it makes the angle of her leg draped over my shoulder even more intense. “ _God!_ ” she exclaims, her hips moving against my hand. Her eyes flutter open, her pupils so dilated that the ring of color around them is almost nonexistent. Her hair is mussed and her skin is shiny with sweat, and every time I see her like this, she’s more beautiful than the last time.

I’m obsessed with my girlfriend. Not in the weird, creepy way I could be, with demanding she never interact with another male and insisting I know where she is at all times, but just that I think she’s gorgeous and sexy and amazing and I just want to make her happy. I want sex for her to be as good as it is for me, and it’s made my pleasure secondary. I’m okay with that, too, because it’s so rare that I don’t orgasm from sex that I know I’m good to go. We’ve gotten to the point in our life together where Donna is more hits than misses, but that’s partly because I’ve made it my life’s goal. If sex isn’t good for her, how can it be good for me? She’s the most glorious creature to exist and she’s wildly responsive, and I like to take the time to explore those responses. So when we can have nights like this, I try to milk it for all it’s worth.

I watch her hand slide down her body, my breath catching in anticipation. She seems blissfully unaware of my reaction to it all. My hand moves faster in response to her touching herself, which only seems to make her go faster. The fun part of this particular act is that it can sometimes happen within moments of starting. One or both of us hit the right spot and it doesn’t take much more than that to have her moaning. When it’s the two of us working in tandem, the results can be explosive.

I feel myself harden painfully then, just the sight of her hand between her thighs getting me back to a fully aroused state. Somewhere in the back of my head, I’m feeling incredibly cocky for being able to recover with such relative speed.

Suddenly, Donna’s hips start pushing against me harder, raising off the counter. I tight my grip on her waist, trying to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.

“Ohhh, ohhhhh, _ohhhhhhh, AHHHHHH!_ ” she screams—actually screams, much to my ego’s satisfaction—a few moments later. Her hand moves furiously in tandem with mine as she comes, getting both of us nice and wet. “Don’t stop! Oh, _God_ , don’t stop!” So, I keep going, watching in fascination as she keeps coming, marveling that this is actually a thing women can do. It’s incredible. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, pushing against me. I rub my fingers against her G-spot faster, trying to give her what she wants, leaning in to kiss her neck at the same time. Her moans vibrate against my lips.

A few moments later, she shrieks again, her hips coming off the counter as they thrust wildly, and I feel her come on me again. She makes strange, wonderful noises as she twitches, finally pushing my hand out of her. I pull back a little, watching her face to try to gauge where she wants to go next. Her eyes open in hazy slits as she breathes heavily, a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, my God,” she moans, her head falling back against the cabinets.

“Do you want more?” I ask, desperately hoping she says yes.

“I want _you_ ,” she answers simply.

I think I actually breathe a sigh of relief and step closer to her. I reach down with my wet hand, stroking myself a few times—nature’s lubricant. Why let it go to waste?

She reaches out and grabs my forearm, pulling me closer. “Now,” she demands. Not one to refuse her what she wants, particularly sex, I move closer, using my hand to guide myself into her. Despite being almost completely positive of just how ready she is, I’m always a little careful at this point. The last thing I want to do is hurt her and I always worry that I’ll do just that if I just rush into it. Besides, falling into her like this is such an amazing experience that it pays to savor it.

Donna’s eyes flutter shut and her mouth drops open, a soft, low moan falling from her lips. I feel myself shudder from head to toe and drop my forehead to her shoulder, taking deep breaths. Tonight has already been insanely intense, especially because I wasn’t anticipating sex at all, never mind sex like this, and despite my earlier orgasm, I feel pretty close to the edge right now. She kisses the shell of my ear and I shudder again. I grab onto her hip and pull her closer to the edge of the counter, keeping my other arm around her back to make sure she doesn’t go too far. She tightens herself around me and I groan, looking up when I feel her chuckle.

“You’re evil,” I mumble.

“Yes,” is all she says, wrapping one of her arms around my shoulder—her leg is still draped over the other one—her other hand grabbing the edge of the counter. For that, I pull almost completely out of her then ram myself back in, going up on the balls of my feet just a little because of the angle of the counter. “Yesssssss,” she says again, though this time in an entirely different way. She clenches herself around me like a vice, trying to hold me in even though she doesn’t protest what I’m doing to her.

She angles her head at me and I reach up, meeting her lips eagerly as I thrust, sliding in and out of her with practiced ease. We know this dance. It’s not complacent, but we know the rhythm. Regardless of how fast or slow we’re going, of who’s on top or our location, the same basic rhythm is always there. It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t get old, but more in a way that lets me know that I’m where I’m supposed to be, and she’s supposed to be here with me.

“We’ve never had counter sex before, have we?” I grunt into her ear, focusing on the slightly different pattern I’m using now where I have to lift myself up on each thrust to make sure I’m in her completely.

“I don’t think we’ve even had kitchen sex,” she answers, her voice light and breathy. “I like it. _Ohhhhhhh_.”

I tighten my grip on her and try to move faster, the sound of skin on skin filling gaps between our moans and whispers. It’s an oddly erotic sound. Maybe it’s knowing what causes that sound that makes it so enticing, but under other circumstances, it’s not at all an appealing noise.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I say, gritting my teeth.

“Are you all right?” she asks, immediately concerned, and puts a hand on my shoulder to try to get a look at me.”

“The angle,” I answer, my hips still thrusting into her, out of my control for the moment. “It feels great but the counter’s just a little too high for me.”

“We can fix that,” she answers, trying to bat my hand away from where it’s snuck in between our bodies—just because the current angle of sex is a challenge, that doesn’t mean I want to stop. She unhooks her leg from my shoulder and gives me a careful push; my legs are wobbly enough from the lack of blood flow that I’m easy to maneuver and move backward, groaning in disappointment when I slide out of her. I reach out and touch her anyway, running my fingers over her for a few moments. She shudders and gasps, letting me touch her as much as I want. The wetness I find there fascinates me and I use it to help guide my fingers.

Before I can go much further, though, she slides off the counter, effectively dislodging my hand. I only feel disappointed for a moment before she drops to her knees, tugging at my wrist to follow. I watch her lie down, stretching her long form against dark wood floor, the contrast of her pale skin making my knees weak. She tugs at me again and I settle myself on top of her, our bodies flush against each other always enough to exhilarate me. Her thighs shift apart to accommodate me and I reach in between us, guiding myself into her again. She sighs, running her fingers through my hair as I start to thrust again. It only lasts a minute, though, before she’s shaking her head, pushing at my bicep.

“Nope,” she says, making a face.

“Are you okay?” I ask, immediately coming to a stop, my entire body on alert in case I’ve damaged her in some way.

“The floor’s too hard,” she answers, smiling at me ruefully. “Sorry.”

I immediately push myself to my knees, accidentally pulling myself from her body again. “Do you want to go to the bed?”

“I don’t think I can make it that far,” she answers, sitting up, too. She glances at my erection and shifts to her knees, moving to straddle me. I grab onto her hips before she can get much closer, wincing as I shifts my knees out from under me.

“I see what you mean,” I tell her as I settle onto my ass. The kitchen floor still has no give this way, but it’s a lot more comfortable than trying to balance on my knees, and it should be manageable for both of us. She settles on top of me a moment later, her body sheathing mine without hesitation. She rearranges her legs until they’re behind my back. “You good?” I ask, settling my hands on her hips.

She bites her lower lip, rolling her body just a little, tightening herself around me in the process. “Very good.”

I shake my head and grin, leaning in to kiss her. She responds eagerly, immediately moving her body against mine. Neither of us have much leverage with this position, but we manage to move our hips in short, sharp strokes against each other. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and she tears her mouth away a moment later, gasping. I watch her in fascination, helping to guide her hips a little as she switches to an up and down motion. Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat. I lean forward and nip at her skin, my tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of it. Her fingers dig into my shoulders and she moans, her voice echoing around the kitchen.

“Joooosh,” she whimpers, moving her hips in a sort of circular motion against me. “Yesssss.”

I love how vocal she can be during sex. It’s not all the time, of course—I would probably doubt the sincerity of it if she always sounded like a porn star—but when the mood hits her, she has no problem letting anyone who might be within hearing range know exactly what we’re doing.

“Oh, shit!” she exclaims, and her tone of voice makes me look up. That wasn’t a happy “oh, shit.” She puts her hands on my biceps, pushing away from me, and I can see the panic in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, everything on alert. “Did I hurt something?”

“Josh, we’re not using a condom,” she gasps, her chest heaving, and I’m a little ashamed that I get immediately distracted by her breasts.

“Huh?”

“Joshua.” She grabs my chin, forcing my eyes back to hers. “We’re not using a condom.”

“Oh,” I answer, my brain struggling to catch up. I can mostly only focus on the fact that she’s not in pain. It’s such a relief that everything else seems incidental. “Oh. I guess…I didn’t even think…”

“I never even thought about it,” she whispers, her body relaxing just a little.

“I didn’t either.” Obviously. I don’t know that I’m even thinking about it now.

“What should we do?”

“Donna…I mean…” I take a few deep breaths, struggling to get myself together enough to use my brain and give her an answer. “I’m clean. I don’t have anything…”

“I know,” she answers, her body relaxing even more.

“We can stop if you want, though. I can go get a condom. I don’t mind. I just want to keep having sex. You tell me how to do it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a little freaked out. I’ve never forgotten a condom before.”

“I haven’t, either,” I answer, moving my hand so I can run it through her hair.

She bites her lip, tilting her head to study me. “I mean, it’s not like we’re completely unprotected, right? I’m still getting the shot.”

“Right,” I answer, trying to tread lightly. I’m not sure where she’s going with this and I don’t want to make any choices that will end with us not finishing sex tonight.

“And I love you. And I trust you. And if there’s someone I’d go bareback with, it’s you.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her choice of words. “I love you, too. We can handle…anything.” Pregnancy is what we’re both implying but not expressing very well. What we’re both trying to say is that we’re will to accept the consequences of our actions. “Tell me what you want to do.”

She shifts a little on my lap and my eyes slam shut for a few seconds, trying to keep myself together. Her legs tighten around my back and I open my eyes in time to watch her start to move up and down again. “Keep going.”

My breath catches in my throat and I tighten my hold on her hips. I fumble a little, trying to figure out how to do this, suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m inside of her without the barrier of latex, and it feels very different. Maybe it’s only in my head it feels that way, but I can tell the difference. I feel very close to the edge, nearly ready to explode within her and instantly make her regret this choice. I bury my face in her neck and try to find the rhythm again.

“You okay?” she asks, coming to a stop on me again, her fingers stroking the back of my hair.

“Never had sex without a condom,” I answer, my voice muffled.

“I haven’t, either,” she whispers. I look up at her, but she doesn’t look nervous or concerned or anything. I suppose, for the most part, no-condom sex is a bigger deal for a woman because she’s the one who’ll bear the brunt of the consequences, should there be any. Not in this situation, of course; it’s not as if I’d leave her if she got pregnant, though there’s nothing I can do to change the fact that most of the physical responsibility would be on her. But if she isn’t concerned right now, I shouldn’t be either. Despite the fact that part of my brain is trying to behave as if this is my first time having sex _ever_ and desperately wants to lose control and come in an embarrassingly short amount of time, I’m a grown man in my forties. I can handle this. She deserves that much if she’s willing to trust me like this.

I take a few deep breaths and straighten myself up, pushing my hips up to meet hers. She lets out a shuddery sigh and I grab onto the sides of her thighs, helping to guide her movements. She leans in and kisses me slowly, keeping her thrusts leisurely. I don’t know if it’s to help me regroup or not, but I appreciate it all the same. She’s so wonderfully warm around me, and there’s a part of me that always wants to stay in this moment.

Her hips start to move a little faster, her lips parting from mine. She blinks at me a few times, her eyes hazy, before she lets out a long, “ _Ohhhhhhh,_ ” and lets her head fall back. Her breasts thrust up toward me and lean in, pulling a nipple into my mouth. She moves faster in response, her muscles squeezing around me, and I suddenly realize just how close I am to the edge. If I last another minute, I’d be surprised.

Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me against her chest. She starts to rock her hips against mine, moving in tight circles. My head swirls. I manage to release her nipple only to switch over to the other one, trying to give it as much attention as I did to the first. If I focus on her nipples, I might be able to last long enough for her to come.

“Joooosh,” she moans, and I feel myself shudder, my groin tightening. “Oh, God, _yes_.” I shudder again and tighten my hold on her thighs, my orgasm exploding out of me, my shout of release muffled by her breast. She keeps moving, her hips doing that wonderful rocking motion that makes me feel like I’m going to come apart. I shove my hand between our bodies and get my fingers between her thighs, rubbing at her furiously. Her body goes rigid for a few long moments before she starts to move out of control, dislodging her nipple from my mouth. I force my eyes open and look up at her, watching as she orgasms and feeling it make mine all the more intense. Her mouth is open but no sound comes out. She’s so beautiful. I can’t stand it. Looking at her right now is too intense. My eyes slam shut again and I bury my face in her neck, my hips still pushing at her furiously, my fingers moving against her as fast as they can. I feel another wave of wetness and my head swells to previously unknown proportions. I feel her start to move out of control in response, so I grab onto her hips, keeping her on my lap. I open my eyes enough to watch her hand take over where mine left off, her fingers moving so fast they’re almost a blur.

And just like that my body gives out and I have to hold onto Donna just to stay upright. Her back arches, her entire body vibrates, and she lets out one last yell before she collapses, too. We pant and hold onto each other, our sweaty skin sticking together. With great care and no small amount of difficulty, I lower her to the floor. I lean in to kiss her and ease my body off hers, lying on the floor beside her. She makes a noise of protest as I pull out and I rub my hand low on her stomach, allowing my fingers to stray south, touching her gently. She makes a satisfied noise, her hips coming off the floor for a few moments before she relaxes. I go back to stroking her stomach, stretching out my other arm so she can pillow her head. She turns onto her side, draping her leg over mine and wrapping her arm across my chest.

“Without inflating your ego too much—”

“Too late,” I answer, lethargy washing over me.

“But _wow_.”

“Yeah, that _was_ pretty good, wasn’t it?”

She chuckles quietly, pressing her lips to my neck. I fold my other arm and put it behind my head, trying to cushion myself from the hard floor. She snuggles closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder, so I wrap my arm around her, running the tips of my fingers over her damp skin.

“I love you,” she whispers, making me grin from ear to ear.

“I love you, too.”

“Our kitchen is disgusting now.”

I burst out laughing, turning to press my lips to her forehead. “That’s an understatement.” Other than I know that we need to clean it before we go to bed tonight—even if I didn’t have a slightly OCD girlfriend, I’d know we’d have to sanitize some things, but there’s no way Donna would be able to sleep with this sort of mess taunting her. “In a few minutes, though.”

She lets out a breath, tightening her hold on me. Despite the fact that it’s cold and unforgiving, I feel like I could fall asleep with her on the kitchen floor. My entire body would hate me in a few hours, but it’s feeling more and more like a good idea.

Donna shifts a little, propping herself up on her elbow, her head in her hand. Her fingers trace over my old surgical scar, a million thoughts obviously running across her face. “Should we…talk about what just happened?”

“The bareback thing?” She nods. “Yeah. Yeah, probably. Are you okay?”

“Other than feeling like an idiot for completely forgetting about a condom? Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Any time I get to have sex with you is a good time, so I’m feeling pretty—”

“Josh. It affects you just as much as it affects me.”

I sigh and turn onto my side, propping myself up, too. “Realistically, no form of contraception is foolproof, right? So we’re always technically taking a gamble when we have sex.”

“I suppose that’s true, though I think we’ve been playing with pretty safe odds for a while.”

I smile at her ruefully. “I’m sorry I forgot about it, too. It’s not like you’re the only one that’s supposed to remember these things. I was too in the moment to think about it.”

She scoots a little closer, pressing her long body against mine. “Are we making too big a deal out of this? I mean, it’s not like we just met or something. We’ve been living together for more than a year. I’m sure there are lots of couples that use just one form of contraception, especially after all this time together.”

I still feel like I should tread at least a little lightly. I don’t know what the right answer is. “I don’t think it matters what other couples do. I think it has to matter what _we_ want to do. If you think you’re all right without condoms, we can do that. I want what you want.”

“Josh.”

“Seriously. Whatever you want to do.” She lifts an eyebrow at me so I shrug sheepishly. “Yeah, okay, I want to have sex. If using a condom makes you feel better about it, it makes me feel better about it and we’ll keep doing that. If you think we can do without them, _I_ think we can do without them. Whichever way leads to us having sex, let’s do that.”

“You’re such a simpleton.”

“Yes. You’re also lying naked on the kitchen floor so I’m very distracted.” Even though most of her body is against mine, I run my eyes over as much of her skin as I can before I move back up her face. Her eyes have returned to their usual color, her expression very earnest and almost innocent. “All right. My opinion is we don’t need them, not at this point. That has nothing to do with me not wanting to wear them or thinking I can’t feel anything while using them, but because we’ve been together long enough—and know we’re in this for the long haul—that I don’t think the extra security is an issue. That said, if you’d like to stop getting the shot and for me to keep wearing condoms, we can do that, too. I just really, really think the final say has to be yours because…you know…you’re the one that could get knocked up.”

“You can be very sweet sometimes, you know that?”

“Even with the knocked up comment? Wow.”

She grins and leans into me, pressing her lips to mine. “The intent is the sweet part. Your delivery could use some work.”

“I accept that.” I kiss her again, reveling in the feel of her twining her body around mine. I’m positive I’m completely spent this time and have used up everything I possibly could have in reserves, but it feels incredible all the same.

“So, I guess I just have one more question for you,” she whispers, keeping her lips mostly against mine as she talks.

“What’s that?”

“What are you going to do to distract me from my boredom tomorrow night?”

I laugh, turning onto my back and pulling her on top of me at the same time. “Probably the same thing, but this time in the shower.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes writing smut isn’t enough. Then I have to write a new smut. A smuttier smut. Because why not. I’ve probably made things weird and awkward between us now. On the other hand, making things weird and awkward is what I do best.
> 
> Just want to make mention of something in particular I got feedback on during my last smutfest, and that was the condom thing. Some people were confused as to why Josh & Donna were still using them. In my world, they use them because they’re not ready for kids, two forms of protection is better than one, that sort of thing. I also read in fic a lot with characters saying “I don’t want there to be anything between us” or something silly like that, and it’s such a trope to me that I don’t feel the need to write it that way, but also I like to present an alternative to safe sex and that it’s totally cool and okay for people in a long-term, committed, monogamous relationship to use multiple forms of birth control. Not to mention that it’s so much less messy for someone on the receiving end of a penis, especially if you’re having sex in a closet in a winery. No one ever wants to write that part, but I try not to shy away from it. In particular in my last story, Donna would probably have had a rough time of it at the rest of the reception if condoms hadn’t been in play. I also have one more reason for condom use in my stories, and it’s the hope that maybe someone out there reading doesn’t ever feel like they’re just supposed to be cool with having unprotected sex. Seems silly, but fanfic probably isn’t unlike reading published works in that they have the ability to influence people, and I just wouldn’t want a real person to assume that the only way to be “close” to someone is by forgoing a rubber. Condoms are fine, two levels of birth control is fine; people who don’t or can’t use condoms are also fine. I just like my universe to double-down on it. Safety is sexy and I will die on this hill. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.


End file.
